Blessed are Those who Mourn
by FaithHopeLove
Summary: No good deed or person goes unpunished. Finished.
1. Prologue

AN: Okay…here it is, ladies and gentleman! Another story by me! I know, about damn time. I know some of you were pulling for a sequel to 'A Broken Wing'…but my writing has changed so much since then, and I just can't do it. I don't think anyone is ever proud of his or her debut fic, but…it'd be too weird to re-visit it! So I hope you all enjoy this piece!

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Never will. Hail to Dick Wolf. And I also have no ties to any of the Catholic prayers/hymns used within this story. And I am in no way connected with the Bible…I've read most of it, but I'm not connected with it.

Spoilers: The Stabler factor that Scarry informed half the 16th precinct about. We all know what I mean.

Warning: As ever, I include Catholicism. What do you expect from a Catholic?

Dedication: Dedicated to garrettelliot, who encouraged me to write it.

* * *

**St. Paul's Cathedral ****Queens, New York ****Sunday, March 6th, 9:40 AM**

Elliot smiled, sitting in the front row at mass, watching his goddaughter, Martina Andreas, canter. He always felt the presence of God when he listened to her sing, but today, with streaks of sun hitting the stained glass windows of the cathedral, nature praising the Lord right along with Martina's sweet soprano voice…praising God felt natural.

"Hosanna in the highest." Martina finished, closing the music folder and walking to sit beside her family before the Eucharist. Her little sisters, Joy and Helena, aged six and eleven, gazed adoringly at the sixteen year old. She smiled down at them, sitting down beside Helena. Elliot kept his gaze on them, missing his own children. He and Kathy were godparents to all three of the Andreas sisters, and he was grateful for that.

He focused as the priest began the communion prayers…He'd heard these prayers so many times he could literally recite them in his sleep…which, according to Kathy, he had done once or twice.

He turned after the prayer to exchange "peace-be-with-you" with his fellow parishioners, when he noticed Martina walking towards him.

"Peace be with you." She offered.

"And you." He smiled down at her. "You sounded beautiful up there."

"Oh…" she blushed, "Thanks…you looked lonely. I decided to come sit with you."

Elliot smiled, embracing the teenager.

"That's sweet, Marty, thanks."

She smiled, sitting, her chestnut ringlets spiraling just past her shoulders. Elliot had always loved her smile. You could tell when it was fake and when it was real. When it was fake, to those who didn't know her, it _would_ seem real; she was incredibly good at faking it. But when it was real, it lit up a room, as well as everyone in the room.

He noticed the St. Cecilia medal she was wearing. The patron saint of musicians and poets. He and Kathy had given it to her when she had been Confirmed, two years ago. She'd worn it every day since. He smiled back down at her, taking her hand between his as the congregation started to recite the Lord's Prayer. He silently thanked God for the Andreas family, and his own family.

**Outside St. Paul's Cathedral ****Queens, New York ****March 6th, 10:20 AM**

After twenty minutes of making polite conversation with parishioners, Martina filed out of mass, walking towards Elliot.

"Martina! Finally finish making the rounds?" He joked.

She groaned.

"I think I have the act of smiling and nodding as people list of prayer requests down to an art."

Elliot smiled and laughed. He knew she didn't mind. He also knew that she would indeed pray for every single request…she had a heart of gold.

"So, where's your sisters and your mom and dad?"

"Oh, I was helping Mrs. Sanders organize the blood drive. I didn't know how long I'd be, so I told them I'd walk home."

"I don't know how you manage giving blood, Martina."

"It's a tiny piece of metal that stings for maybe two seconds, and within that two seconds you do something that changes a life. Call me a dork, or a way too devout Catholic, but that kind of inspires me."

Elliot laughed again.

"I'll take you home, kiddo."

**Manhattan Special Victims Unit ****Manhattan, New York ****March 7th, 10:50 AM**

Olivia Benson walked into the squadroom, finishing her cappuccino. Whoever didn't think that coffee was a gift from God to man seriously needed to re-examine themselves. She had barely sat down at her desk when Cragen came out of his office.

"Benson, where's Stabler?"

"Stuck in traffic after driving a murder witness home."

"Well, I need you to go to Central Park. Missing persons case."

Olivia looked up, slightly shocked.

"Captain, why are we covering missing persons?"

Cragen sighed.

"Because missing persons decided that it was too emotional for them, and threw their crap on us. There were obvious sexual overtone because a pair of panties was found at the scene. The guy apparently abducted an entire family."

Olivia started to feel rage coming up.

"There were witnesses? How come no one helped them?"

Cragen sighed. That was a question worthy of debate. Along with all the other how's and why's that the detectives of SVU wondered in their day-to-day.

"The perp acted fast, and the family was in a secluded area. Uniforms are already interviewing witnesses."

Olivia sighed. Another day, another case. More pain. For her and the world. The least she could do was try to eliminate someone else's pain.

"I'll call Stabler, tell him to meet me there." She said, pulling on her coat.

**Central Park ****Manhattan, New York ****March 7th, 11:20 AM**

Elliot parked his car, jogging over to Olivia.

"'Liv. What's up?"

"Missing persons. Family of five. Witnesses said three daughters with their parents. Two younger looking ones, and an older one. The oldest one was brunette, the other two were blonde. One guy says he thought he recognized the older one from a play at some parish in Queens. Couldn't place a name. As for the parents…"

Olivia's voice faded into the background as Elliot envisioned his goddaughters. He had to stop thinking like that. That description probably fit about a hundred other families in New York City…and there were lots of parishes in Queens. But then…

Elliot noticed a glint of gold mixed in with the grass. He kneeled to pick it up, praying to God that he wasn't right. Praying that his worst nightmare wasn't coming true. It wasn't happening. It couldn't. Not to someone he knew and loved. God wouldn't let it happen. Would he?

It was an unanswered prayer.

"Olivia," He called, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Ell? Did you find something?"

He turned over the St. Cecilia medal in his hands. His worst fear was confirmed. _To Martina, Love Elliot and Kathy_ was engraved on the back.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! This isn't happening!"

"Elliot?"

"I know the family that's missing, Olivia. My…godchildren…"

"Elliot? _Elliot?_ Okay, sit down," She offered, helping him to the ground.

Where were they? He'd spent his entire life praying that this wouldn't happen. His dearest friends, and children he'd watched grow up, were in the hands of God only knew who, with God only knew what happening to them. That's when he noticed the panties.

"Oh, God. A _sex offender_ took them?"

"We don't know that," Olivia soothed. "Missing persons gave us the case because they couldn't handle it."

"And because there was a pair of panties. I'm not an idiot, Olivia!" He shouted, then realized what he was doing, "Sorry, Liv. It's not your fault."

"You do realize that Cragen's going to take you off the case, right?" Olivia offered quietly.

"Yes," He said. His eyes darkened, "Olivia. You have to find them."

"We will, Ell. We will." Olivia promised, knowing very well that she shouldn't be promising such a thing.

"Someone needs to tell Kathy…" He realized.

"Okay. Why don't we go tell her. And…I'll drive you home after we tell her…and I'll drive her to her mother's house if she needs me to…do you have a picture of the family that we can release to press?"

"Yes,"

"It might not be them, Elliot." Olivia offered. "What we have is circumstantial."

Elliot just shook his head. It was them. How could he deny it? There wasn't any point.

**St. Monica's Hospital ****Queens, New York ****March 7th, 12:05 AM**

Kathy Stabler leaned against the nurse's station, taking a quick break. The ER nurse had been on the job for three hours, and she was exhausted.

"Stabler, line one." She heard over the intercom.

Great…so much for a five-second break. She snatched up the phone.

"Yeah, this is Kathy."

"Your goddaughter isn't as innocent as she lets on, Mrs. Stabler."

"Who the hell is this?"

"That's for me to know…and you to pray to God to find out. I have the Andreas family here with me. Oh," a man's voice said, laughing sadistically, "I think the firstborn wants to say something."

"Kathy?" Martina cried, "Do something!"

"Martina?" Kathy called, "_Martina?"_

"Virgin _Marty's _quite a better lover than you'd think."

Kathy heard Martina scream and cry out, and her parents crying. She felt a gentle hand take the phone from her.

Never in her life had she been so glad to see Olivia Benson.

"Who is this?" Olivia demanded, "What do you want from the Andreas family?"

"It's not the Andreas's I'm mad at," the voice said, "Or maybe it is. Just one of them, specifically. And what do I want? I want her to suffer as much as she's made me suffer, the sick little bitch."

The phone slammed down in Olivia's ear, and she silently cursed the day God created the sick bastard who had been on the other line.

"I'm sorry, Elliot," She said quietly. "It's them."

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Please review, everyone. I love your input! Please be constructive, but don't flame me. 


	2. Grudge

AN: Wow…muchos gracious for the reviews, y'all! I am touched! I will forewarn that although I'll try, updates are not necessarily going to be frequent. I always try to update frequently, but both writer's block and life happens. I'm also going to try several different POV's (including Huang!) in this story…I'm new at some of these. Bear with me.

Spoilers: 'Hooked'

* * *

**Stabler Residence**

**Queens, New York**

**March 7th, 2:00 PM**

**Kathy Stabler's POV**

I sit in my old living room, in the house where I used to live with my husband, shock overcoming me. Martina…the entire Andreas family have always been close to us, but Martina…she and Kathleen are inseperatable, and they practically lived at each other's houses. Or had. For all I know they're all dead. And Marianna, my best friend…Marianna, oh God, what would the bastard who had them do to her? To her husband? To their children? What had been happening to Martina when whoever it was that had them gave her the phone? She was a good _lover_? Half the junior class hadn't nicknamed her Virgin Marty for nothing…how did he know that was her nickname? How could he be holding a grudge against someone so sweet? What was happening to the family right then and there?

I had to stop. I couldn't keep thinking this way. I had to be strong. For the Andreas children, and for their parents, Marianna and Daniel. For Elliot. For my children, who were going to come home to this house in less than two hours.

I looked around the living room. Olivia had released a family portrait to the press. It had appeared on the news, and word had spread quickly. Church parishioners, knowing that the Andreas's were like family to us, had come quickly to try and offer whatever comfort they could.

It was an attempt in vain.

Olivia was here, interviewing people who knew anyone in the family, probably to see who would have a grudge against such wonderful people. She'd told me that John and Fin were canvassing the crime scene, gathering whatever little evidence they could. What ifs plagued my mind, but then I noticed Olivia walking towards me.

"Kathy." She said quietly, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm not." I said quietly, "You'll find them, right, Olivia?"

"We're going to do everything we can, Kath. I promise. So, can you tell me about the phone call?"

I sighed.

"I has been on shift for three hours. I was taking a break at the nurse's station when they said I had a call over the intercom. I picked up the phone…said it was me, and I heard this really creepy-sounding male voice…he said 'your goddaughter isn't as innocent as she seems, Mrs. Stabler.' I asked who it was. He said that was for him to know and me to pray to God that I'd find out…what would he mean by that?" I gasped. "Do you think he'll come after our children?"

"Who can be sure of anything like that, Kathy? Don't worry. I'll make sure officers keep an eye on them. What else did he say?"

"He said something about the firstborn wanting to say something…"

I wanted to collapse just remembering.

"Then what happened?" Olivia asked, bringing me back to the present.

"He put Martina on the phone. She was crying, and she started begging me to do something." I started crying…and then…

"_Martina!"_ I screamed, sobbing.

I watched as Olivia gave in to humanity, forgetting her professional demeanor and hugging me as I sobbed. Elliot walked over, letting himself cry. In the twenty years we've been married, I've seen him cry maybe five times, three of those were of joy when our children were born.

I couldn't handle this anymore. I couldn't do it…how was I supposed to be calm when the girl who was basically my fifth child was in the hands of a sadistic…

"Kathy? Kathy?" I heard Elliot calling, as I pulled away from Olivia's embrace. I started gasping for air, and everything was whirling around me…why was it so hot? I was trying to stand up, to organize a search party, to just do something. Anything. Why was Elliot holding me back from standing? And why was Olivia calling for someone to get a doctor?

Suddenly, everything went black.

* * *

**Stabler Residence**

**March 7th, 2:30 PM**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

It's inconceivable…completely unfathomable. Yesterday she was laughing with me in the car, talking about college and her plans to go into acting. I can't believe that Kathy's lying upstairs in what used to be our room, sedated. I can't believe that within an hour I'm going to have to tell my children that people we love are missing, and that…well, I'm not going to tell them we may never see them again.

Olivia walked over to me. My best friend, one of my truest confidants. I wish I could cry, tell her everything. But she wouldn't understand…she cares about kids. But she doesn't have them, and she doesn't have godchildren.

"Elliot, tell me about Martina."

I look up, shocked.

"Why?"

"Nobody I've interviewed can think of any reason why anyone would have a grudge against the family, but from what I hear, Martina is relatively well-known around Queens. There's a lot of psychos out there, Ell…there's a chance someone could be stalking her, and the more I know about her, the more I get an idea of who would stalk her and why. Well…that is, the more information I can give to Huang so he can decide that, the better."

I sigh again. Now isn't the time to focus on my hatred of shrinks and psychology in general. If Huang can help me get them back, safe and alive, that's all that matters.

"Martina? Let's see. If the Pope decided to initiate a saint from St. Paul's Parish, and asked the parishioners who they thought was worthy, her name would be shouted out in unison. She sings in the church choir, she helps run the preteen youth group, as well as the kids group, and she's involved in the youth group. She volunteers at the soup kitchen, a homeless shelter, she's a candystriper at St. Monica's, she helps run blood drives, gives blood…she helps people whenever and however she can…she's America's Sweetheart. She gets straight A's at Glen Oaks High, she tutors Elizabeth with algebra. So, yeah, that could sum up why she's well known. She's met a lot of people, and to top off the fact that she's the sweetest person you'll ever meet…well, she's beautiful. I'm sure lots of people fantasize about having a relationship with her."

I smile, remembering all the times I've watched her live life to the full. She was so sweet, so innocent and so full of life. What would happen to that now? And then I sigh. There's another reason why someone might be fantasizing.

"She's also gifted at singing, acting and dancing. She plans on acting after high school. She wants to do Broadway, and already, there's about five drama schools that want her. She acts in community theatre, parish plays, high school plays. I've watched her onstage since she was a preteen…she's natural on there. Whenever she acts, sings or dances, it's what you hear anyone who watches her say again and again…that she's just…natural."

I remember all the times I've watched her act. She'd gotten my kids into it…I remember them doing plays for Kathy and I, as well as their parents, together when they were younger. They had grown up, and the plays had stopped, but all anyone had to do was say the word, and Martina would start up on a monologue. She'd asked me to critique a scene for her that she was doing for drama class a few days ago…it had been perfect, and I'd been quick to tell her that. Her typical shy, modest smile and quiet "thank you" was the constant result. She was great, but she was humble. Except for that one time with Brian…Brian!

"Olivia!" I said, "She was dating this guy…Brian, but he wasn't Catholic, and he didn't approve of her being Catholic, or doing all she did within the Church. She broke it off, and…well, Brian just called her a waste of his time, and started dating someone else, but…his parents were really angry. I remember talking to Daniel, Marty's dad…Brian's parents had called him and started going on about how pathetic Martina was…I told him to talk to the cops, but he wanted to hold out on the situation."

"When did this all happen?" Olivia asked. I noticed her rage rising with mine

"A week ago."

* * *

**Stabler Residence**

**March 7th, 3:30 PM**

**Kathleen Stabler's POV**

I sit in my room, crying. Dad told me when I got home, which happened to be before Liz and Dickie. I'd collapsed into tears…he'd held me, and I know he was glad to have one of his daughter's in his arms…I also know he wished it was Marty, Helena and Joy. Dad promised me that it would be okay. But he can't promise that. He thinks I'm stupid or something; that I don't know what he sees. I know more than what he thinks.

I know that Marty's probably not a virgin right now. She was a virgin, and proud of it, and not ashamed to say so. It was thanks to her constant friendship that I didn't do anything with my boyfriend…the one dad was warning me about…Marty and I were both single, and that just made us closer. When our other friends went out to movies and hotel rooms with their boyfriends, we'd go to mass, youth group, or somewhere else together. We'd talk, laugh, cry and vent. She is…or possibly was…my best friend, and until she's home, nothing else matters to me.

I walk to my dresser. I see the friendship scrapbook she made me, and I remember her giving it to me on Valentine's Day…we'd been goofing about how our ex-boyfriends were cut and we were gonna go steady. We'd laughed, and she'd given it to me, saying she'd rather celebrate our friendship that sit around in pity because she hadn't found Mr. Right. She always was confident that God would put the right guy in her life…when he saw fit.

She was always saying things like that. Always laughing, always making the best of everything. She found the best in everybody, and there was nothing but the best in her. I flip open the scrapbook. The first picture is of us, volunteering at the soup kitchen. The picture portrayed her just as she was; beautiful inside and out, and on top of the world. It was thanks to her that I was a better person, a stronger Catholic, and…no one could ask for a better best friend.

The second one was of us in full costume before the school production of 'The Crucible'…she'd acted Abigail, and I had acted Mary Warren. Her character was the exact opposite of who she was, and yet she'd still managed to do it perfectly. And she'd helped me with my character until I had it done as flawlessly as she did.

I didn't realize how hard I was crying, and I didn't realize I was angry until I realized that one of my snow globes had shattered against the wall I had thrown it at.

"Damnit!"

I sobbed, and the knowledge that if she were here, she would just comfort me as I cried only made me cry harder. I looked up when I heard a knock on the door, and then the handle turning.

"Father Jacob…" I gasp out, unable to hold back my sobs.

I know he's trying to comfort everyone, but I'm sure that he's also feeling the pain of her absence…of the entire family's absence…they're everything to the church. I focus on Marty because she's my best friend, but if they hurt Joy or Helena…she'd never forgive herself, and I'd never forgive the bastard who would hurt such beautiful children. And Daniel and Marianna…two sweet people who have loved my siblings and I as their own. This was all too much for any of us to bear.

Father Jacob sat down beside me, starting to recite a prayer. I quietly join in, knowing that the Andreas' are going to need all the prayers we can give them.

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Please review, everyone! Tell me if I'm focusing too much on my OC. What do you like about this story? What don't you like? What would you like to see in it? My current longest review award goes to SVUFanatic 611 (love you for it, Jess!) 


	3. Unanswered Prayers

AN: Thank you all so much for such great (longer, lol! Which makes me **happy!**) reviews. Many of you think that Martina is Mary-Sue-ish. (If someone could give me a by-the-book definition of what that means, I'd be eternally grateful. I get the idea of what it is, but…if you asked me to define it, I couldn't. Which bugs me.) I'll be adding flaws along the way…I know that no one is _that_ perfect…although I can think of several people who strive to be. Sorry that my interrogation scene isn't too long…I've never been that great at writing them! Any pointers?

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed this piece for such wonderful advice, and Jess, I agree…classic.

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to SVUFanatic611. It's through your writing that I have a better understanding of Olivia, and am able to write through her POV…I hope I begin to do you justice!

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**SVU Interrogation Room**

**Manhattan, New York**

**March 8th, 8:00 AM**

**Olivia Benson's POV**

I sit across from Brian Matthews, forcing my body language to be calm, controlled and collected, even though inside I'm tenser than I've ever been in my career. And there have been some tense times. But never this tense. This case…this one affects my partner, and what affects my partner indirectly affects me. So this time, it hits home. 

This time it's personal.

"So, Brian," I say, my voice neutral. "Where did you say your parent's were?"

"They're on business. In California. They should be back in a few days."

"I hear you were dating Martina Andreas. Why did you break up with her?"

I look over at the little pimp. If he calls her a bitch, I swear to God, I'll lose whatever composure I have.

"Martina broke up with me. Because I'm not Catholic."

"Sucks to be you," I say, "From what I've gathered, Martina's quite the saint."

"Please, she hates anyone who's not Catholic! Someone should tell her that her so-called God calls everyone to love each other."

I lean back in my seat. Casey had convinced a judge to issue arrest warrants, and we'd arrested Brian last night around six. I'd been in interrogation all night, switching off with Munch and Fin, trying to get him to fess up. He'd claimed that his parents were on business in California, but he had called them, and they'd given permission for us to talk to him. He thought we were stupid, and that we wouldn't check with their offices. They had been on business trips, but had been home for a week.

"If she hates everyone who's not Catholic, how come she makes continuous efforts to help everyone?" I ask, getting hit with a revelation, "You're quite jealous of her, aren't you?"

"Why would I be jealous of that bitch?"

"Because 'that bitch' is surrounded by family and friends that love her. She's happy, sweet, involved. She's strong, and confident enough to set her standards…" I laugh, choosing to try out one of the one-liners I've learned from Elliot…he'd said it to one of Maureen's boyfriends, "Well, above what you are, my friend."

I lean back. I wish I'd been like her when I was a teenager. I wish I'd been confident, happy, faith-filled, and surrounded by a wonderful family. I'll never have the family she does; but the rest, I make up for now.

I snap out of what I wish I had. Martina needs my help. She's not going to get it if I dwell on my wish list of life. I realize that Stabler-izing Brian is getting me nowhere. Elliot has his act down to an art…well, it's not always an act, but whatever he does, for the most part, it works. But that's him. I'm me.

"How long were you and Martina dating?"

"A month. She still wanted to be friends when we broke up, but she said she couldn't marry a non-Catholic. That's all she friggin' thinks about! Being a perfect wife and punching out about twenty-million kids!"

"From what I hear from her best friend, that's public knowledge. So why'd you date her?"

Brian shrugged.

"She may be too much of a devotee, but she's a damn hot devotee."

I smile. Yes. He's going down. I've got him.

"Sounds like you still care about her a little. Look, Brian, I know your parents aren't on business. I checked. They have Martina, don't they?"

He looks down.

"Don't they?" I shout.

I don't know where my anger is coming from. Normally I don't lose my cool with suspects. But this is for Elliot. For better or worse, we have each other's backs. He's my best friend, and if getting these people back alive will help him and his family sleep at night…I'll do whatever I can.

"You realize that she's probably being tortured, raped and God only knows what else is right now, don't you?" I shout.

His face starts to crumple.

"Look, if you tell me, you'll get off. I'll tell the ADA how cooperative you were."

He starts to cry.

"I didn't want them to do it, but they told me she andher family deserved it!"

"Where do they have them?"

* * *

**Queens, New York**

**March 8th, 9:30 AM**

**Olivia's POV**

I'm driving,praying to the God my partner has restored my faith in that he will protect the family. All Brian would tell me is a house on 97th street in Queens before he said that he wanted a lawyer. A house…why did it have to be a street that had tons of houses? Unless…

I head for the Andreas' house, hoping I'm right.

* * *

**St. Paul's Cathedral**

**Queens, New York**

**March 8th, 9:31 AM**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

I sit with the kids in the front row at a prayer service for the Andreas'. Kathy decided that she needed to work. I don't know how she's _managing_ to work. She probably sees Martina, Marianna, Daniel, Helena and Joy in everyone she helps. She may be pushing for separation, but she's not unfeeling. She's probably thinking that that's what Martina would want; what they all would want.

I still wish she was here.

"For the Andreas' family, whether…they are still on this earth with us or not, to be strengthened in faith. We pray to the Lord." Father Jacobs said, head bowed.

"Lord, hear our prayers."

"That if they are gone from this life and rejoicing with you in the next, that you would grant their family and friends comfort. We pray to the Lord."

"Lord, hear our prayers."

I look at my watch. They've been gone close to twenty-four hours. I wish to God I didn't know the statistics of missing person's. Every second that goes by, their chances of survival drop. One…two…three…

Are they still with us?

* * *

**The Andreas Residence**

**Queens, New York**

**March 8th, 9:33 AM**

**Olivia Benson's POV**

I watch as an officer hits the door, running in the second he does. I wish to God I hadn't run in.

They're dead, all of them; shot. I recognize them all from the picture. I can't look, and I turn away, tears in my eyes. All I can do is stand there, hating both God and myself for not finding them sooner. All I can think about is the grief that this is going to cause Elliot, Kathy and their children, and everyone that loved this family. Suddenly, rage starts inside me. Helena was only eleven, Joy only six…Martina…sixteen…their lives had been cut off too soon. They were so full of life, they'd had so much ahead of them. I look back one more time, praying to God that I'm wrong; that they're not really dead. But they are, and I can't deny it. I then realize that there's only four people lying in front of me. Two blonde children, and their father…and a brunette middle-aged women.

I run up the stairs…there's light coming from under a door, and I hear crying from inside. I test the door, surprised to find that it's unlocked. I open it, walking into a bedroom that is presumably Martina's. I watch in shock for several seconds. She's handcuffed to the bed,sobbing as Brian's parents stand over her.

"Shut up!" Brian's mother shouted, backhanding her.

"Police!" I shout, snapping back to reality, drawing my gun "Both hands on the wall, now!"

I hear officers running in behind me. After the Matthews' have their hands on the wall, I address the officers.

"Arrest them."

I turn to Martina, walking to her.

"Martina, are you okay?" I ask, unlocking the handcuffs with my key. I thank God over and over as she nods. "My name is Olivia, I'm Elliot's partner. Hang on, okay? We're going to get you out of here."

My heart's breaking as I call for an ambulance. Does she know that her family is dead? Worse, did she see it? Is she wishing she herself was dead? What happened to her after they were killed? Before? Questions take over my mind. She's a miracle; she's a survivor.

She's crying even harder now, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to hold it in. I sit down beside her, stroking her hair.

"Shhh…it's okay, sweetheart, it's over."

She sighs, and I instinctively check her pulse.

It's fading. Fast.

* * *

Okay, people, I admit it. I'm not too proud of this chapter. I'm good at writing angst, butI suck at arrest and interrogation scenes, and it's my first time trying Olivia's POV to top that off. But, hey, you're not going to get better at something without practice! Tell me what you think; critique, but once again, don't flame. Until my next chapter, adios! 


	4. A Promise Kept

AN: I'm sorry it's been so long! You can't hate me, cause I'm procrastinating my Shakespeare, Napoleonic Era, and Respiratory homework to write this and post it…and accepting the fact that I might have to get up at the ungodly hour of six to finish it. Oh, well. You guys are worth it! Thank you so much for the reviews and the support! I know Amethyst requested Huang- he's not in this chapter, but he will appear soon!

I tried to keep the tenses consistent, but good grief, is it ever hard! I'm in English 10, but…they cover tenses so pathetically at my school. It's not even funny.

I want to thank my dear friend and soul sister, SVUFanatic611, for her help andsupport (does that qualify under beta? I think beta's just spelling…) on this chapter. Love ya, girl, and you'll never know how much I value your input!

* * *

**Queens, New York**

**March 8th, 9:38 AM**

**Olivia Benson's POV**

I stand in the corner of Martina's room as medics get her on a stretcher, preparing to get her to St. Monica's. I pull out my cell phone, calling Elliot. I know he's at mass, and under any other circumstances, he'd kill me if I called him when I was well aware of the fact that he was at mass. But this isn't an ordinary circumstance. Her family's gone, and she needs someone to be there for her.

Less than an hour ago, I envied her for having the family she did, wishing I could be her.

Now I couldn't be more grateful that I'm not.

I hear Elliot pick up as the medical team starts taking Martina to the ambulance. I run alongside them, preparing myself to break the news to my partner as I run.

"Olivia? What is it? Have you found them?"

"Elliot, get to Saint Monica's."

"What, what's going on? Are they alive?"

"Just get there!" I said, hanging up the phone, jumping into the ambulance, holding Martina's hand, whispering to her as she tries to stay awake, trying to keep her talking.

She's out of danger, I hear someone tell me, but my focus is only on her. She needs to know she's not alone.

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**Queens, New York**

**March 8th, 9:50 AM**

**Kathy Stabler's POV**

I lean against the nurse's station once again, exhausted, defeated, this time for different reasons then the last time I remember leaning against the counter. I want to pass out. I really shouldn't have come to work, but there's one thing Elliot forgot about Marty. Today's Tuesday. She works here as a candystriper on Tuesday's. I'm doing this _for_ her; helping the people she would have wanted to help. That alone drives me on; I help them for her sake, and, if she's dead, in her memory.

"Kathy," I hear my supervisor say, "Sit down."

She guides me to a chair, but the look on her face gives most of what she's about to say away.

"They're dead, aren't they?" I say, bitterly.

"Martina was the only survivor. Olivia Benson found them in Queens, and Martina should be getting to ER any second. If you promise me that you can remain calm, I'll let you do the rape kit. Promise me that you can remain calm."

"I don't know if I can," I say, sobs threatening to overtake me. I love Martina; I love her with everything in me, but…they're gone?

I see the stretcher, and somehow I know that it's her. I have to help her. She's been through hell, and the last thing she needs is some stranger poking and prodding at her. I look at my supervisor, Doctor Monroe.

"I promise." I say to her, running to meet the stretcher with her, taking over for the ambulance attendants, watching Olivia sink into a waiting room chair.

"…Kathy." Martina gasped out.

I look down at her, forcing myself to smile reassuringly, although I want to cry. She's never needed her mother more, but her mother's gone, as is her father. And it was their will that I take over that position for them. So help me God, I would.

"Hi, sweetheart." I say quietly, reaching to stroke her hair as we pull the stretcher into the nearest examining room.

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**Queens, New York**

**March 8th, 9:52 AM**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

I run into the waiting room, praying to God that Olivia's found the Andreas'. Maureen had, thank God, had her car at the cathedral, and she'd taken the kids home only after I'd promised to call them the second I knew anything. Everyone else was still at the church, praying for the grace of God.

I see Olivia. There have been times when I've been relieved to see her, but never have I been so relieved to see my partner.

"Olivia, what happened?"

"Elliot," She said quietly, pointing to the seat beside her. "Sit down."

Slowly, I sit. Her eyes give away nothing, but I think I've known deep down since they went missing.

"We found them, Ell."

"Are they alive?" Is the only thing I can manage to say.

"Only Martina."

I don't know whether to thank God that she's alive, or curse Him because the rest are dead. I choose to thank Him for the fact that she's alive. I'll question everything else later.

"Can I see her?"

"Kathy just took her to do the rape kit."

"So she was…"

Olivia nods, putting her hand on my shoulder as I start to tear up.

"Can I see her after that?"

"Of course."

* * *

**St. Monica's**

**March 8th, 10:15 AM**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

I sit in the waiting room, ready to go crazy. Olivia went in to question Martina fifteen minutes ago. I want to see her so badly. She survived, but how scarred will she be? If I could just see her…I know she's not going to be smiling and laughing, but…just to be able to hold her close and promise her that it's all over will reassure me.

Daniel, my best friend, had watched me the first time I'd held Martina in my arms. He'd asked if, in the event he and his wife were gone, I would be willing to raise Martina. I'd made a promise to him that day, that I would love her as if she were my own child. It was a promise I intended to keep.

"Elliot," I hear Olivia say, "You can see her now."

I practically charge into the room.

Nothing could have stopped me.

But nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see. She was there, physically; she was breathing, her eyes were open. But emotionally…her soul was gone. Her eyes, which used to sparkle with the joy of life, were dull and empty. Her once almost always-present smile was replaced by a look of complete sadness. I force myself to push my thoughts away and instead focus on her. For the moment, the room was empty, and she slowly fixed her gaze on me.

"Elliot…?"

"That's right, sweetie." I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand, and sitting just as Kathy comes back into the room. I see the injection kit in her hand, and she notices the questions in my eyes.

"Elliot, I need to talk to you."

I slowly file out of the room.

"What's with the needle?"

Kathy sighs, and from the look on her face, I know it isn't good.

"Elliot, she has severe burns from the waist down."

"Including her…?" I ask, in horror. It wouldn't surprise me. It's happened to women before. But…this was Martina. It wouldn't happen to her. It _couldn't_. Could it?

"Thank God, no. But her legs…well…she'll walk again, but more than that…who knows? I'm about to put her on a morphine IV, but…one of us should probably be with her in case she wakes up."

Outside, I hope I look concerned. Inside, all I feel is rage. The father of her ex-boyfriend would know that she had been a dancer, had wanted to act on Broadway. You needed to do more than walk in the productions she had wanted to do. He'd shattered her family, her innocence…and now her dreams. I want blood. But that's going to have to wait.

"Okay, let's go do it. The burns were taken care of?" I ask

"While she was in the ambulance. Let's go."

I walk back in. Whatever rage I feel is replaced with a fierce need to protect Martina from the second I laid eyes on her. I sat down beside her, stroking her hair, gently wiping away her tears. Kathy gives me a look, and I know that she's about to tell Martina, so I take Marty's hand.

"Marty," she said quietly, "I'm going to put you on a morphine IV. It's only going to sting for a minute. It's going to make you feel better, and it'll help you sleep. Okay?"

Martina just stared at Kathy, her eyes lifeless until Kathy took the needle out of the packaging. I watched fear flicker in her eyes, and then she started crying.

"Don't…no, please." She started sobbing.

I remember the conversation we had on Sunday, what feels like decades ago. _"It's a little piece of metal that stings for maybe two seconds."_ She'd never been afraid of needles. Ever…so why was she afraid now?

"Martina, what happened?" I ask.

She cries harder.

"He drugged me before he…I couldn't move…I could feel everything, but I couldn't fight him off! It hurt so much!" She cried, gasping for air.

"Marty, I'm never going to let him hurt you again." I say, wanting so badly to know all of what he did. But what I want isn't important right now, "I promise you."

She started sobbing even harder; shaking from the force of her sobs.

"I promise you." I soothe.

My heart's breaking. What did he do to her? I want more than anything to pull her into my arms, rock her, and promise her that she's going to be fine; that it was all just a nightmare. But I can't promise her that, because it wasn't.

"I'm so scared." She admits, shaking.

"It's going to be alright, Marty," Kathy offers, taking her other hand. "It's going to help you feel better. Okay?"

Martina nodded, obviously afraid. I try to comfort Martina as Kathy walks towards her, and takes her arm, preparing to inject the needle. Somehow I find myself wanting yet not wanting to know what is going through her mind.

"Shh…it's okay." I whisper, stroking her hair.

She keeps crying, and for the first time in my life, I don't know how to comfort someone. For me it's always been impersonal; it's never been someone so close to me. Memories of her family are running through her mind; I can see it in her eyes. They're running through mine as well. I remember Daniel. We had taken Spanish together in high school, and had become good friends in our senior year. His parents would often speak Spanish around the house. He spoke it fluently, and he had taught it to all of his children. Martina was the only fluent one, and they consistently spoke it together. Whenever she'd been sad, whenever she'd had a hard day, he'd speak it…

I'll never be able to replace Daniel, but what could it hurt? Thank God I'd paid attention in Spanish.

".El novia, estara bien. .Sera por todas partes. .Tengo razon aqui."

Her eyes meet mine in understanding before they close. I sigh in relief at the fact that, for the first time since I've seen her, there was a small amount of peace in her eyes.

"Sleep well, sweetie." I whisper, pulling the covers up to her chin, and kissing her forehead.

Kathy sobbed, running from the room.

"Kathy," I call, running after her, "Kathy?"

I follow her as she runs outside. I watch her as she leans over a trashcan and loses whatever little she's eaten in the last few hours. She falls over, crying, and I run to her.

"Kath…?"

"She was just a kid, Ell!" She sobbed, "She was just a little girl, and now…"

I'm shocked when my soon-to-be ex-wife falls into my arms and sobs. I try to comfort her, but…what do you say?

"I know, Kath."

"What do we do?"

I sigh. I've been wondering the same thing since I've found out that Marty's alive.

"We keep the promise we made Daniel and Marianna."

* * *

English translation of the Spanish:

Sweetheart, it's going to be okay. It's all over. I'm right here.

So, what did you all think? I'd love to have your input, and it's always nice to open your e-mail and see lots of (longer better!) reviews! Please be constructive; offer advice and ideas, but don't flame me. Andyes, I know that this chapter was practically all Elliot's POV. What can I say? I find it easy to get into his head.


	5. I Hate Him

AN: Thanks to the people who reviewed! I treasure your input so much, and I'm so grateful for it! And Jessica…awww, thanks. I'm trying out a couple new POV's in this chapter. Tell me what you think. Finally, garrettelliot…you said you used to be a scrub nurse. If a person had severe burns (chapter 4), how soon would they be released from the hospital, and how long would it take them to be able to walk again?

Disclaimer: I do not own the song 'Ave Maria'…I sing it (a lot!), but I don't own it. Too bad, it's a wonderful song. 'The Passion of the Christ' belongs to Mel Gibson. (And, as I argue, to God!)

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**March 9th, 9:00 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Martina Andreas' POV**

I sigh as I lean back against the pillows on my bed. Elliot is sitting beside the hospital bed, looking at me questioningly. I think he's left my side for a total of five minutes since I've been awake. I woke up with nightmares around six in the morning.

"At least they took me off that stupid morphine IV." I say, trying to crack a joke, "I hate morphine. I hate drugs! I always have. I don't even know why. See, it's screwing my inner thoughts; I'm rambling."

He laughs, and I quietly join in his laughter. Laughing feels so foreign to me now. It's the first time I've laughed since Mr. and Mrs. Matthews grabbed us in Central Park. I haven't told anyone this, but it's my fault. It's all my fault. For one thing, if I hadn't pissed off Brian, this wouldn't have happened. Second, going for a walk in Central Park before we all went to work and school after morning mass had been my idea. How dare I be laughing right now? My entire family is dead, and I might as well have killed them myself.

I can't believe that the bastard made me watch while he shot them. I can't believe that he actually strapped me down to a couch, raped me in front of my parents, and then made me watchwhile he killed my parents and my sisters. The screaming still echoes in my mind, as do my sobs.

It isn't until Elliot leans over from his chair and gently wipes away my tears that I realize I'm crying now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.

"I _want_ to look across this room and see my sisters laughing instead of screaming as a man shot our parents! I want my parents to be standing there with them, talking with me about college and Broadway and just life in general!" I say, my voice rising above its usual level. But then I realize whom it is I'm directing my anger at. "I'm sorry, Elliot."

My face crumples, and I start to cry again. I hate being this weak. I hate being this helpless. I hate just about every factor of my life, except for the Stabler's presence in it.

"I'm so sorry!" I sob, covering my face with my hands.

I'm sorry that I hurt the people I love the most. I'm sorry that Joy and Helena had to die; they had so much ahead of them, and they were robbed of all of that. I'm sorry that my parents are gone; may they rest in peace. I'm sorry that it's my fault. Most of all, I'm sorry that I'm taking out my anger and self-hatred on the people I love.

"Marty," I hear Elliot say, his voice gentle, filled with understanding. I feel him sit down on the bed beside me, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

"You were there when they were killed, weren't you?" He asks me

Slowly, I force my hands away from my face. I don't want to face the world, but I know that I have to. Elliot's a detective; I'm sure he could read it in my eyes. The truth had to come out sooner or later. I nod miserably, but I can't make eye contact with Elliot. There's too much shame filling me.

"It's all my fault!" I cry.

"What!" Elliot said, shock lacing his voice. "Martina, look at me."

I can't. I can't. I can't! He gently makes me, holding my chin so I'm looking directly at him. I'm so surprised that he doesn't look disgusted. I'm disgusted with myself, why shouldn't he be disgusted with me? All I read in his eyes are empathy, understanding, concern and compassion. But I also read the same firmness my father used to look at me with.

"Martina, this was _not_ your fault, alright? Don't even think it. If your parents were here right now, they'd tell you the exact same thing. Because it's the truth. Say it, Martina." He tells me, the firmness growing in his voice, "Say it wasn't your fault."

He relaxes his hold on my chin, and I'm thankful that he didn't comment on the fact that I've soaked his hand in tears.

"It...wasn't...my fault." I whisper. It's too early to know if I mean it. But it's a start.

"Good girl," He whispers, "Now believe it."

My sobs are overtaking me, and he pulls me to him. He's consistently attempting to comfort me, but I think the only time it worked is when he started talking to me in Spanish last night. Well, I don't even know if it was him. While he was speaking it, I saw my father; it was my father's voice I heard speaking it. Maybe I hallucinated. Maybe my father had come from heaven to comfort me. Maybe it was a sign that Elliot would be there for me, the same way my father had. Or maybe the drugs they had me on just screwed up my perception.

I hate drugs. I hate life. I almost hate God. Oh, why lie? I do hate God. Why should I lie to someone who knows the ultimate truth of what I'm thinking?

I hate Him for taking away my mother, the only person who ever really understood my crazy, dramatic impulses. The only person who had heard me sing 'Ave Maria' about a thousand times and still told me how beautiful I sounded every time I finished. The woman who taught me to sing, to dance, to act. The woman who had loved me unconditionally from the day I was born, even when I was a complete bitch to her after a bad day at school.

I hate Him for taking away my dad. He was always the only man who truly motivated me to be all I could be in life. He was the only man who could teach me the steps of algebra about one hundred times over, and still not get mad when I didn't understand. He was the man who showed me the true meaning of unconditional faith. Through my father's love, I had understood God's love. But my understanding of God's love died with my father.

I hate Him for taking Joy, my sweet little protégé that had been on a never-ending mission to dress like me, talk like me, act like me and do whatever I did. I hate that I used to hate that. I hope I'dbeen a good role model for her.

I hate Him for taking Helena. She was a six-year-old child! It wasn't fair! What had she done? What? She was the one who could make me laugh when I wanted to cry. I hope I was a good enough big sister to her.

I hope they know how much I love them, and how sorry I am. I hope they know that I'm sorry for every time I didn't make time for them. I hope they know how sorry I am for those days when I was so stressed that all I did was snap at everyone and be miserable.

There's one more thing I hate God for.

I hate Him for not taking me, too.

* * *

**Stabler Residence**

**March 9th, 8:00 PM**

**Queens, New York**

**Kathy Stabler's POV  
**

We agreed tonight. Elliot and I agreed on something for the first time in quite a while. And that was that we needed to work out our marital issues. For Martina, for the kids, and for us.

I don't want to be alone anymore. And he doesn't either.

This world is so cold, but going home to a house without my husband there only makes it colder.

And Martina…she doesn't need us trying to be her godparents from two separate houses. She needs our support, now more than ever, and not just one of us at one time. And as much as I hate to say it, I need support. Elliot needs support. Our children need support.

We all need support. And a shrink. A _very_ good shrink. Although Elliot is very annoyed at the prospect of talking with any psychologists, he knows deep down that he has to. The kids need someone, too.

Martina needs more than we can give her; that's indefinite. And as much as I hate to think of myself here and now…_I_ need to be able to talk to someone who won't be burdened by what I have to say.

That person used to be Marianna. But she's gone. Daniel's gone.

I guess that decides everything.

I pray to the God that I've questioned ever since the disappearance and death of mine andmy family's closest friends that I'm doing the right thing as I dial the number of George Huang.

I hear him pick up, and I sigh in relief.

"Hi, George, this is Kathy. Kathy Stabler?" I say, hoping he remembered me.

"Kathy! Hi. How are you? How's Elliot? How's Martina?" He asked in concern.

"George, if we were okay, do you think I'd be calling you?"

"Very true." He answered, "What can I do for you?"

I sigh. What could he do for me? I don't even know what I can do for me, or for my husband and my children. Martina is scared, lost, confused and in a kind of emotional turmoil I can't even comprehend. Her parents' funeral is tomorrow afternoon, and I don't know how to help her. I don't know how to comfort her. I don't know if I can take over for Marianna.

And then there's Elliot. My husband. 'Till death do us part. He told me that Martina had shared with him that she had seen her family get murdered, and that although he was pretty sure she could have said more, he didn't want to force it, and had chosen instead to comfort her while she cried. I'm positive that he's cried some tears of his own- I know that I have. He's locked his emotions deep down inside of him. He always does that, and it leaves me not knowing what to do.

And finally, there are my children. Maureen, who's known Martina since birth, and is so confused and upset at what's happened to Martina that she hardly talks about it. Kathleen, who is devastated by what happened to the point that she barely speaks at all. And the twins…I don't know if they even understand it.

And we're all grieving the loss of four people that we loved.

"Kathy?" Huang prodded.

I choose to tell the truth, and nothing but. If there's one thing Marianna taught me, it was that.

"I don't know, George. I honestly just don't know anymore."

* * *

**Stabler Residence**

**March 9th, 9:30 PM**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

If John and Betty Matthews get the needle for what they've done to Martina, I hope the state will let me inject it into them. I hope they scream, cry and plead for life as much as I'm sure Daniel, Marianna, Helena and Joy did. I hope as the poison goes through them, they're in as much physical pain as Martina was when she got those burns. I hope as they realize that they're dying, they feel as much emotional turmoil as I'm sure Daniel and Marianna did as they watched their daughter being raped, and as much as Martina was as she cried in my arms earlier today.

To make a long story short, I hate everything about them. I curse the day they came into this world, and I pray for the day that they cease to exist. And on that day, I hope they go straight to hell. And I know that it's a sin to think that, but so is raping, beating and torturing an innocent child, and so is murder.

There has to be a special level of hell for those kind of people. Anything less is just wrong.

After I hopefully convinced Martina that it wasn't her fault, I held her close to me, and let her cry until she couldn't anymore. It had taken several minutes for her sobs to subdue, and my heart shattered into a thousandpieces over those minutes. She'd been an honors student, a faithful Catholic, friend, sister and daughter, and an all-around good person all her life. She wasn't perfect, but she certainly taught most of the world how to be better. And she'd always been so joyful. Why would God let that be shattered? I've seen Martina cry- really cry, not about something like falling down when she was little- three times. One, when she'd had a fight with her father about math and how hard she worked. Two, when she'd first watched 'The Passion of the Christ' and three, when she'd met a little girl who had been raped when she was candystriping at St. Monica's.

But I've never seen her cry like that…with no hope, no trace of joy, and no faith. I've never seen her in total, complete sadness. Ever. I want so badly to turn back the clock and have been with them on Monday morning, with my gun poised to fire at anyone who came near her and her family.

But I can't turn back the clock, and that makes me even sadder. All I can do is hold Martina while she cries, and try to be the best substitute father for her that I can. She told me that she saw and heard Daniel when I was speaking Spanish to her last night. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse.

I don't even know what I know anymore.

After she finished crying, she had finally opened up to me about what happened. I couldn't tell Kathy tonight, she asked me not to. I know that she will tell Kathy in her time, when she is ready. After she told me…I wanted to go out and kill the Matthews then and there. Had it not been for her in my arms, I'm almost positive I would have done so.

John raped her in her own bedroom almost constantly. She'd teared up as she told me about the first time; the time he did it in front of her parents. She'd screamed, but he'd told her that if she did it again he'd kill her parents. He'd tied her down in the living room and told her that if he didn't like what she did, he'd do Joy next.

She'd cried, and she admitted to me that it hurt so much that she thought she was going to die. That she couldn't remember if Joy and Helena had been in the room, just that her parents were in there, unable to help her, crying. When he'd finished, he'd turned around and shot all of them, forcing her to watch,letting onlyher live. He'd carried her upstairs, and made her perform oral sex on him. He'd handcuffed her to her bed, then raped her again.

She hadn't been able to go on after that. I'd taken her hand between mine and promised her that it was all over, that she was safe.

I wish my promises were true. The attack _is_ over.

But the pain is just beginning.

* * *

**SVU Squadroom**

**March 9th, 10:00 PM**

**Manhattan, New York**

**John Munch's POV**

I can't believe that Cragen put me on this case with Olivia. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against working with Olivia. She's a dear friend, and I enjoy working with her. Also, nothing gives me more pleasure than putting away the scum that do these kinds of things to people.

But Elliot Stabler is also a friend of mine, and this one hits home for him.I've met Martina once or twice through places where we have both volunteered.She's agreat girl who had always left me feeling more confident about the good of people in this world; who made me feel that the next generation would be a better one. I never really, _really_ knew her, certainly nothing more than a "Hi, how are you?" scale.

But still, it hits home. She didn't deserve this. No one deserves it.

Usually I can come up with something witty to say, something ironic that relieves the tension of working sex crimes on a day-to-day basis. This time, there's nothing witty to say. No retorts to be made, nothing ironic except for the fact that you'd think God would be more protective of someone so wonderful.

This time, there's nothing but a case to solve, and some people who need to be convicted.

"John," Olivia offers, "go home."

"And do what, Olivia?"

The statement hits both her and I hard. But we both know that neither of us are going to sleep until we catch these two people. Very likely, we're both way too pissed.

I want blood. She wants blood. We'll work well together.

People ask me daily why I don't just quit; why I didn't really retire after working Homicide. I have a job to do, and I don't think I've finished it yet. I doubt I ever will. As long as perverts and criminals walk along the streets of this city, all of America, in actuality, I have a job to do. That gives me reason to live; that drives me on. People like Martina inspire me daily, help me rememberthat there are people worth fighting for. My job is to serve and protect, and although I rarely let it show, that means a lot to me. It's what I do, and what I will do until the day I die.

I guess I'll save the city my pension, cause I doubt I'm ever going to retire.

People like Betty and John Matthews disgust me. I hate the fact that I share a name with the man.Good thing I've mastered the art of controlling my anger, or else I'm pretty sure I would have killed several people like them. I probably would have joked that the government told me to do it; that it was all just a conspiracy, too. Along with computers, UFO's, JFK and about a million other things.

I shake myself back to reality.

I will serve.

I will protect.

I will fight for justice.

I have a job to do.

I was put on this earth to do it.


	6. Questions Answered

AN: And, here it is, ladies and gentleman! I'm sorry the update took awhile, but it's the end of the first term of the second semester, and I got around a 3.85 GPA. Also, I was just finishing up some volunteer hours, so…and then, there's that lovely thing called writer's block. Grrrr…

Okay, you may notice that I set this story four months ahead of the last chapter. No, it isn't a mistake. There's more twists in the plot that I want to cover, so I jumped ahead a bit. If there's something that wasn't clarified that you wanted to know about (eg: details of the case, in-depth details of the trial) tell me via the review and like magic, it will appear in a future chapter. Also, for those of you who have read 'Let me In' by SVUFanatic611, you're going to notice similar factors in my chapter regarding a play… (Chicago) and that's because we've decided to write a sequel for her post-ep and a companion to my story together, based off that play. So, I didn't plagiarize Jessica's work, although it's damn tempting!

Disclaimer: I do not own the musical 'Chicago' or anything connected to it. Although I must say, I listen to the soundtrack often enough.

I dedicate this chapter to garrettelliot, the genius who helped me so much with research in this chapter! Thanks so much…you're amazing!

* * *

**Stabler Residence**

**July 9th, 6:30 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Kathleen Stabler's POV**

I lean back against the pillows in what used to be just my room. It's mine and Marty's now, not that I mind that. She's alive to share a room with me, and I thank God for that every day. It's been over four months since Olivia found her close to dead. So much has happened in four months that I can barely take it all in.

Obviously, Martina moved in with us. We've both had our share of nightmares and have spent countless hours just talking. Mom and dad think they know the horror. They don't. I'm the one she's told about how she hated God for taking them, hated herself because she lived. I'm the one she's cried to about how ugly she thought she was because of the burns the used to be all down her legs.

Physical therapy had been long and painful for her, but when the trial came, she had walked to the stand in high heels, her head held high, unashamed, unafraid, and ready to make the Matthews' pay for what they had done to her and her family. Or so it seemed. I always have envied her stage presence. To this day, I don't know if she was afraid or not. She had worn a long skirt to cover the burns, she's always hidden them; only recently, now that it's just scars, does she wear shorter skirts again.

I don't think anyone within our family really remembers the details of the investigation. We remember the guilty verdict, and the fact that John Matthews got the needle is _very_ clear to us, as well as the fact that Betty is serving twenty-five to life. Brian cut a deal with the DA; turned on his parents for six months in a juvenile detention center. The little jerk.

The legal system for minors sucks. Most of the American justice system does. But this time, it was merciful and gave us somejustice.

Sometimes, I think that fact is all that keeps my entire family sane.

We may not remember the trial, but the funeral is something we all wish we could forget. Four people lying in coffins, completely unworthy of such a heinous murder.

At least they're rejoicing with the Lord, I try to tell myself…that doesn't mean we don't miss them.

What I do remember vividly is my vow that I wouldn't dance, wouldn't act and wouldn't sing until Martina felt ready to do it with me. I remember her asking me why I had stopped dancing about a week after she had been home, and I had told her the truth. I can still remember the slight rage in her eyes. Not at me, not at herself.

She was enraged at them. That's what our whole family calls John, Brian and Betty. _Them._ There isn't much more that has to be said than that, and none of us ever really want to hear their names again.

Rage had flashed in her eyes, but when her eyes fell back to mine, they were filled with tears.

"Kathleen," She said quietly, "They took my family, came close to taking my faith in God, took away my ability to walk alone and feel safe, to wear a short skirt, to laugh without feeling disgusted at myself, and they've taken away my ability to sleep at night, and, as of right now, to walk like a normal person. They're _not_ going to take away my dreams and, so help me God, they're not going to take yours."

After that day, I'd started doing community theatre again. She'd come to watch me at every practice, and she told me that watching me dance gave her the strength to want to do it again.

That was three and a half months ago. She'd danced in secret every day until she was finally able to do basic routines again, and I'm proud to say that I've helped her.

Then, Queens Community Theatre had announced auditions for 'Chicago' about two months ago. After mom personally begging dad for several hours, along with me, and Elizabeth,he agreed to let me act Matron Mama Morton, the part I had been given.

And Martina? All of our family thinks that, although she can walk, she's not performing tonight, instead sitting in the front row tonight with them, on the opening, to cheer me on.

That's what they think.

* * *

**Queens Community Theatre**

**July 9th, 7:00 PM**

**Queens, New York**

**Olivia Benson's POV**

I still partially wonder why I'm sitting here. Well, I know why I'm sitting here. I'm here to see the look on my partner's face when his daughter walks onstage dressed as a prison matron, singing songs with major innuendo in them.

The imagined idea of what his face is going to look like is worth the ticket price, let alone what it actually will look like.

I doubt my eyes will be on the stage much.

I can't wait.

The curtain should be going up any moment, and Elizabeth whispers to Elliot.

"Where's Martina?"

"She'll be here soon, sweetie." He offers, but I see him scanning the room for her, worried.

I scan as well. The last thing Martina needs is more trauma in her life, and everyone hovering over her might prevent it.

If it works, if overprotecting her will shield her from pain, I'll do it right along with Elliot.

There's no sign of her, and the curtain's going up. I hear the opening notes of 'All That Jazz', and see, from the corner of my eye, the spotlights go on, but I'm still scanning the room.

"Don't worry, Ell," I offer, "She's probably just gone to the bath-"

I stop talking at the look on my partner's face, and everyone else's faces.

I look up on the stage. Whoever's acting Velma Kelly is starting to dance to the music, flawlessly, her voice soaring through the first verse perfectly. I'm impressed.Wait…it couldn't be. Not this soon…

Indeed it is.

Velma Kelly is Martina Andreas.

* * *

**Queens Community Theatre**

**July 9th, 9:30 PM**

**Martina Andreas' POV**

I smile as I take my final bow for the night, with Catherine, one of my dearest friends, who got the part of Roxie.

Tears are flowing down my face, tears are flowing down hers, and I saw Kathleen tear up as I ran up with Catherine to take my first bow onstage since my family died.

I'm sure Elliot thinks I can't see him tearing up, but I see it all.

"Ladies and gentleman,lets welcome back themuch-missed Martina Andreas!"

I hear the call from the director, and I notice that a microphone is being thrust in my face. Damnit. I just sobbed right into it.

"…It's good to be home!" I say, laughing through my tears.

Laughter echoes through the room. I can't think of anything to say. I've missed this feeling; the feel of the stage beneath me and the spotlights in my face…I've missed this so much…

I smile and bow as cheers start echoing around me.

I might have meant my last remark as a joke.

But it is, in every way, true.

I am home.

I smile as I file offstage with the rest of the cast, Kathleen and I walking together, tears cascading down both of our faces. We've both worked to be here; danced until we didn't think we could move, sang until another opera-high would make us go deaf, and acted until we forgot who we, ourselves, were. And that, for me, has been a welcome distraction. But I know that I need to remember who I am. Martina Andreas. Sixteen. A junior in high school, about to start her senior year. A victim…no. A survivor of rape and battery.

Forever a survivor.

Olivia Benson taught me that.

* * *

**Office of Casey Novak**

**September 17th, 9:00 AM**

**Manhattan, New York**

**Casey Novak's POV**

I hate this. I hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate that today, the teenage jerk who assisted in the rape and battery of a girl who has become a friend to me, will walk free with no record. I want him dead. I hate the justice system. I hate…I hate myself for not nailing him in adult court.

I sigh. I look to the phone where I got the call that I've been dreading for the last six months. He's out; free to do as he wills. If he touches anyone again, I will kill him from sheer strength of will. My will, that is.

I sigh as I flip open my cell phone. I hate every single thing about this, but there is not a way to avoid it, and Elliot, Kathy, their children, and Martina have a right to know.

"Stabler,"

"Elliot…this is Casey."

"Casey?" I hear him say, concern lacing his voice, "Bad day?"

"You could say that," I say, forcing myself to speak through the growing lump in my throat…Eeek. I'm not succeeding.

"Elliot…they've released Brian Matthews…"

We both knew that this moment was coming. He knows how undependable the legal system is, and considering Brian had never directly hurt Martina…we had both known what could happen, and had prayed that something would be better than a chance of nothing.

We had both been stupid.

Tears are forming in my eyes. I try to force them back, but it's not happening.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, wishing I could curl up somewhere and die.

"It's not your fault, Casey," I hear Elliot say, "I'm…going to go talk to Martina. I think she should know. How long ago was he released?"

"A couple hours." I whisper. "Take care of her, Elliot."

"I will."

I hear him hang up, and I am left listening to the dial tone. I hang up the phone, and the silence is deafening. I can hear my own accusations being screamed in a silence I could cut with a knife. This kind of silence is my most dire enemy. I've always been afraid of thistype of silence; the kind where no comfort can be offered, no condolences said. There is only me, and my petty, stupid, undeniably idiotic mistake. I've let some of my dearest friends down, and I hate myself for it. All I can see right now is Martina's face. I have never seen her cry, and even when I told her of the plea, she had never been angry.

She had been silent.

I almost wish she had screamed at me instead.

As I see her right now, in my mind, she's in tears. And I am the cause of it.

"Damn it!" I shout, hurling a photograph on my desk into a wall.

I cover my face with my hands and weep.

* * *

**Glen Oaks High School**

**September 17th, 9:51 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

I'm close to shaking as I knock on the door of Martina and Kathleen's Sex Ed classroom. I want to scream. I want to hit someone. More than anything, I want to hold my children in my arms, and turn back the clock.

But I can do none of that.

The teacher…Ms. Henders, if I remember what Kathleen told me correctly, opens the door.

"Detective Stabler…?" She says, and I'm sure she is wondering what a sex detective is doing standing outside her classroom. "Did I book some kind of lecture and forget about it? And if I did…"

She looks at my face. She stops. I wish to God I was here to lectureher studentson the importance of being safe, but I'm not. She knows that. I'm sure it's evident on my face.

"Could I please talk to Martina, Judy?" I ask. "She probably won't be back for the rest of the day…"

"I understand." She answers back.

Everyone in this city knows what happened. It was all over the news.

"Just let me get Martina for you."

I try to voice some words of gratitude, but I can't find my voice as I look at my two daughters laughing, Kathleen sitting backwards in her desk and facing Martina. Martina may not be blood-related to me, but I have known since the day that Kathy and I knew that we would officiallybecome her guardians, that in time, I would think of her as my daughter. Not my god-daughter, not a friends daughter, but indeed, my own child. And, almost instantly, she has become my daughter, in every way. According to many relatives, as time has gone on, she has started to look like Kathy and I. We share the same laugh, she has Kathy's smile. As time goes on, there is more and more of us in her.

She finally has joy in herlife again. I hate that I have to take that from her again.

She looks gorgeous; she always does. In a pink T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and the makeup that she always keeps minimal, she looks amazing, and I've had to glare down several guys who have given her some _way_ too appreciative looks. However, it is her smile and her laughter that make her truly beautiful. Her face is animated right now, her eyes and mouth smiling, her look mirrored by Kathleen. Why do I have to shatter that?

"Oh, yeah, baby, we are the sexual health masters of the universe!" Martina says, laughing at some apparent inside joke between her and Kathleen. Maybe it has something to do with the worksheet on her desk.

I smile at them, smile as Kathleen falls over onto Martina's desk, unable to support herself while laughing so hard, Martina's shoulders shaking in laughter of her own.

I'm going to call Ms. Henders back, walk away, tell Martina later. What kind of idiot does something to hurt someoneon his first day out of incarceration?

I shake myself out of my stupid thoughts. She needs to know, and I hate to shatter all the work she has done to smile and laugh again.

But what has to be done has to be done, and Ms. Henders walks up to her, and I see the teacher indicating towards me. Kathleen and Martina smile and exchange their typical good-byes.

Martina walks toward me, smiling. I hate this. I hate this! **I hate this!**

"Well, Elliot," She said, smiling, "Perfect timing, there's not another class I'd rather get out of. What's up?"

She finally sees the look on my face, and her smile disappears, as does the sparkle in her eyes. Ms. Henders follows behind her, looking concerned.

"Ms. Henders…Judy, is there a classroom or someplace where Martina and I could talk privately?"

She leads us to a Science lab a room away, opening it with her keys. I try to smile, and she turns to go back to the classroom. It's so light in here, which does not match my mood at all. Why does there need to be so many windows in a science lab? Martina sits up on a lab table, fear in her eyes.

"What happened?" She asked, dread obvious in her features.

I slowly sit down beside her on the lab table. She's sitting closest to the aisle between the two rows oflab tables. I wonder if that's a good idea. I almost passed out when I found out about Brian. I put my arm around her, just in case. She doesn't need a contusion along with the inevitable upcomingtrauma.

"Martina," I say, quietly, surprised at the strength in my voice, "Brian was released from the detention center a couple hours ago."

The calm in her eyes is almost eerie. The calm is shattered by something close to a whimper, which she forces back.

"What's on your mind, Marty?" I ask, knowing that her thoughts are being held back.

"Elliot…in all honesty, I don't care about Brian. It's the memories of what happened that go along with that name that I'm afraid of, not him. Because I don't know if I can really, truly face those memories. Face myself. I don't know if I can face the memory of my parents' blood soaking the floor of a house where I used to be so happy. I don't know if I can face the memory of the horror in their eyes as they watched Brian's father…"

She looks down. Then, slowly, meets my gaze.

"I don't know if I can face the questions I have." She says, her now tear-filled eyes meeting mine.

"Martina," I offer, "You're not going to get answers unless you ask for them."

My attempt to help her is met with silence.

"Talk to me, Martina. Ask me what you want to know."

She looks down, and I know that this is going to be hard.

"Would they be ashamed of me for not protecting them, for not doing something? Would they be disgusted with me for not being a virgin? Would they be proud of the life I have lived since I lost them? Would they hate me for trying to get over them dying? Can they forgive me from wherever they are? Does God really exist? Is it okay for me to hate Him for doing this? Does He hate me for hating Him? Why did He let this happen? How could He? Is he ashamed of me, too? Are you?"

I've wanted to stop her during her entire speech, but I know that she needs to let it go, thus I choose to listen. It breaks my heart to know that such painful questions have had to enter her mind. She's still a child; so sweet, so innocent. She finishes, looking at me with such an emptiness in her eyes. I wish I could do something- _anything_- to fill that emptiness, but…there's nothing. All I can do is tell her the truth.

"Martina, listen to me." I say, surprised at the firmness in my voice, "Never have I, and never will I be ashamed of you. Nothing youever do will make me be ashamed of _you_, although I may be ashamed ofsomething you do sometime in your life. Your parents would not be disgusted by you, Marty. By what happened to you, yes, they would be disgusted,because they were watching their baby girl go through hell, and they couldn't do anything to stop it. But there is no way that they could be ashamed of you, Marty. No way. And there was nothing you could have done to stop what happened. I have known your parents since high school, and the one thing your father always said was that, no matter what, he wanted his children to live life to the full."

"As for God existing…nobody can really say yes or no to that, Martina. But I know that you've felt God, so you have to decide on your own if that is real. I don't know why this happened, Martina. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and I believe that God understands the hatred…and He is not ashamed, Martina. Not of you."

"And if your parents were here," I say, finishing my speech, "They would tell you how proud they are of you. Because nothing you've done or ever could do would make themhate you. They loved you so much, Martina, andAnd Kathy and I do, too. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded, and I stroke her hair.

"And if you ever need to talk again…?"

My voice stops as I follow her horrified, terrified gaze to the window. I see a teenager, about her age, tears in his eyes, staring.

With a gun in his hands, posed to fire.

"Get down!" I shout, pushing her off the lab table, throwing myself down beside her, the sound of the gunshot ringing in my ears.

"Martina, are you alright?" I ask, scanning her body. No blood. Thank God.

"I'm fine, what about you?"

"Fine."

I hear the gunshots echoing. It's so strange…so strange…why hasn't it stopped?

"Did I hurt you when I pushed you off the desk?"

"A couple bruises, I'll be fine…why is the gunshot still echoing?"

We look at each other at the same time, the realization striking both of us.

The shots are coming from inside the school.

And I know that the same thought is striking us at the same time…Kathleen…

* * *

AN: Please review, everyone! I really want your opinion on this! Thank you for all the sweet reviews you have given me so far; I treasure them so much.

Look for upcoming continuations of the scenes from the play coming up soon; SVUFanatic611 and I are working on it!


	7. Light and Darkness

AN: Hey everyone. Sorry it's been so long since I last posted; I know it was quite the cliffhanger I left you all with. This time, I have a really good reason for not updating: the hard drive on my home computer is screwed, thus the only time I can post is on weekends. The good news? It should be fixed much sooner than what I originally thought; in place of the perspective of a year, it's now only going to be about a month. So it will be a while before I post the chapter after this one. Thank you all for such sweet reviews; I can't tell you how much I love getting them.

This chapter was hard for me to write. To anyone who has lost someone to, or been a survivor of a school shooting, my prayers and condolences are with you. This chapter is in the memory of those who did not survive a school shooting, and to the legacy they have left behind.

* * *

**Glen Oaks High School**

**September 17th, 9:59 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Kathleen Stabler's POV**

I lean back in my desk, wondering why dad needed to talk to Martina. He looked pale. Really, really pale. I mean, our family has dealt with some pretty harsh stuff over the last six months, but I've never seen him look like that. He has a tough job, I know that. But when he comes home, he's not Detective Stabler. He's not a person who seeks justice and who sees unspeakable tragedy day in and day out. He's instead, Elliot Stabler; my father, and a good one at that.

I never really saw him as that great of a father before he and mom were seperated. You never value anything unless it's taken away from you. But for a while, I saw him only on weekends, and I missed having him around more. Sure, he can't be around all the time. I got that then and I get it even more now. I missed him so much. And whenever you dial another parent at a different place of residence than your own home, something in you cracks. There's an empty space inside you that's never filled. There's the consistent desire to have your parents together, in one house, at the same time, on civil terms.

I shake myself back to reality, trying to do some dumb assignment that we're supposed to be doing. My parents are back together in the same house, and whatever issues they had, they seem to have worked out. I might as well through a 4.0 GPA into the mix. Make them proud. I don't get this assignment. I'm sure Martina can help me when she gets back. I've always envied how good she is at this stuff. She manages to understand it and muster a straight face when it gets beyond what, as we are so lovingly called by our classmmates, "the Catholic virgins" want to know. Which is much more than I can do.

I am so deep in my thoughts. I hear a bang in another classroom, but it barely registers into my mind. I hear the door being swung open, and I look up, hoping it's Martina. I gasp deeply, shock filling me.

It is most definately not Martina.

It's Brian Matthews, holding a gun, which is pointed in my direction...I don't get it. Why is Brian here? Isn't he still supposed to be in juvinile detention? Why is he pointing a gun at me? Why does he have a gun? Whywere there banging sounds in another classroom? Banging...the banging...oh, God...my dad...Martina...my other friends...

I hear screams, and I realize that they're my own. But they're cut off by a burning sensation in my stomach which quickly spreads up my spine. I don't understand...why is it burning? When I put my hand to it, why did it feel sticky? Why am I on the floor? I lift my hand towards my eyes and scream what only comes out as a whisper; drowned out by other screams.

My hand is covered in blood.

_My_ blood.

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**September 17th, 11:06 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Kathy Stabler's POV**

I'm numb.

This isn't happening. I am _not_ sitting in the waiting room of the hospital where I work, without a uniform on, waiting to find out if my daughter is alive or dead. I'm not watching Martina sobbing, Elliot pointlessly trying to comfort her, as he cries tears of his own.

I've never seen him like this. The only times I've seen him cry were when our children were born.

I don't want to cry with him if one of them dies.

My rosary isn't in my hands, but prayers for Kathleen are flowing from my heart.

My sweet Kathleen. So young, so sweet, so beautiful and funny. So full of..._life_. From the second I first held her in my arms, she had a shine in her eyes; a passion to live the life she was given to the fullest.

I'm not ready to let her go home to heaven. I want her to go to Heaven, of course. But not here. Not now. She has so many dreams she hasn't lived out yet; I curse myself for not making at least some of them come true.

She'd wanted to see the world; especially France and Italy. I'd always told her that we couldn't afford to send her as an exchange student. If we'd saved, though, we could have, and I wish we had.

She had wanted to graduate from high school as co-valedictorian with Martina; to graduate with first honors on full scholarship to a drama school. She'd wanted to be in love; true love, if only once in her lifetime. She'd wanted to act on Broadway, and Film and Television. She'd wanted to get married and have and raise children. She'd wanted to move to Manhattan after she graduated.

She can't die.

She's never really had a chance to live yet.

I close my eyes, and try to force back my tears.

Will she ever have a chance to see her dreams come true?

Will her eyes ever see this world again?

Is she still alive right now?

I count the seconds. One...two...three...four...five...

They might as well be hours.

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**September 18th, 2:00 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Kathleen Stabler's POV**

There's light straight ahead of me. It's beautiful, and it reminds me of Midnight Mass at St. Paul's when the cathedral was lit completely by candles.

I look ahead of me. I sense the love my parents have told me is consistent in heaven, and although I thought I would be, I'm not afraid. Dad and Martina are probably dead, were probably killed, and without them with me in life, I might as well be, too. I know the Andreas' are there.

I am more than ready to spend eternity with them; to meet my Savior, to see the Blessed Virgin, to be in the prescence of the Creator of the universe.

I start to walk towards the light.

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**September 18th, 2:00 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

I gently reach over to pat Martina's hand as she sits down beside me. It's early morning...very early morning...but there's no chance that none of us are going to sleep. Olivia took the twins home around nine. Martina stayed with Kathy and I, but we couldn't reach Maureen.

Father Jacob came to the hospital last night around eleven to give Kathleen the final sacrament. The Sacrament of Death.

We all know it's not going to be much longer.

God have mercy on us when it's over.

It's very early in the morning, but there's no chance that any of us will sleep. We're tired, but sleep won't come. We're too worried.

Martina just got back from the chapel. She left to pray right after Father Jacob left.She's been praying for hours. She's stopped crying; but emptiness has replaced the short-found joy she had worked so hard to get back into her eyes.

Kathy hasn't moved in several hours. Her eyes are fixed onto the floor, and she's completely motionless.

I realize that tears are welling up in my eyes. My little girl...I'll never understand how this happened. I...just...how can it be happening? I know that soon she'll be gone from me, but it isn't fully hitting me.

I'm sure if it was, I'd be in hyserics.

Instead, I'm smiling through my tears at my memories of Kathleen. I remember when she was just a little girl; when we used to go to the park together. I remember when she started tenth grade, how long and hard I had to work to help her understand math. She'd worked hard, too; relentlessly, consistently, with passion. I think it was one of the proudest moments of my life when she showed me the A she had achieved as a final mark in math. I remember her acting Matron Mama Morton this summer. I may have hated it then.

I would give anything if she were up there on that stage right now.

I'm shaken out of my reverie by a nurse walking into the room. I know from the look on her face that this isn't good.

"Her heart rate is approaching flat. I thought you might want to see her before...I'm sorry." She said, "There's nothing more we can do."

We all know what it means. We walk towards her room. It might as well be a funeral procession.

I walk in, say something to her, but what I say right now isn't registering. I'm praying to the Lord that something will happen; change; that she'll be okay once she knows we're here with her. That she'll open her eyes; alive and alert.

Nothing...

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**September 18th, 2:06 AM**

**Queens, New York**

**Kathleen Stabler's POV**

The light is surrounding me; so is the prescence of love. I'm walking towards it...yes. This is the Kingdom. But I hear a voice...I think I know it...it's so strange...it's not coming from the light, it's coming from behind me.

My father's voice...he _is_ alive.

"Kathleen...it's dad...I love you, sweetheart..." His voice dies out. I think he's crying...why is he crying? Doesn't he know how happy I am right now?

I look again to the light. Am I supposed to choose my Father in Heaven or my father on earth?

What am I meant to do? And what about Martina? If she's gone...what's the point?

I continue walking in the light.

* * *

**St. Monica's Hospital**

**September 18th, 2:08 AM**

**Martina Andreas' POV**

I can't believe that this is it. I can't accept that this is the last time I'll talk to my best friend. I won't accept it. Kathy and Elliot just said their completely heart-wrenching goodbyes.

I hate myself for doing this to them. It's all my fault. If I had stayed with Brian, none of this would have happened. And my family would be alive.

No, I can't see this as the end. The end for her is the end for me, too. I remember the conversation we had, right after I'd moved in with the Stabler's...

_Kathleen smiled, laughing at the memory of us when we were little._

_"I'm really glad you're still here, Marty."_

_"...Thanks."_

_"What, you're not?"_

_"Kath, I'll be honest. There's days I think I deserve to die. I'm glad I didn't, but-"_

_The shock in her face is hitting me hard._

_"Martina, if you end your life, it's the end for me, too. Don't you dare. Don't even think it!"_

I smile, remembering how much she loved all of us.

"Hey, Kath." I say, walking up to the bed. I can treat this only one way. Act as if this isn't the end.

"You aren't really going to die on me, are you? The end for you is the end for me, remember? We promised. And...oh, yeah. You can't really plan on making me be valedictorian all on my own, can you? How much would that suck?"

Elliot and I both take her hands; me on the left him on the right. Everything within us focuses on the heart monitor.

Still nothing.

The first tear breaks free from me, followed by more. I want to hold it back, but I can't control it. I control nothing.

"Please, Kath." I beg.

* * *

**St. Monica's**

**September 18th, 2:08 AM**

**Kathleen Stabler's POV**

I'm still walking in the light, but this time Martina's voice breaks my concentration on it. She's okay! I thank God over and over as she jokes the way she does in our room when we're supposed to be studying.

I feel a my father's hand take mine. The same hand that wiped away my tears over the years, comforted me when I was scared, stroked my hair as I sobbed when I found out that Mthe Andreas' were missing. I feel Martina take my other hand and beg me to come back. Mom is putting her hand on my leg, joining Martina in begging me to come back.

"C'mon, Kath," I hear Martina sob, her quiet sobs echoed by my parents, "You won't make me be valedictorian all by myself. You won't."

It's my turn to wipe their tears away. I gasp for the air which will welcome me back to earth.

* * *

**St. Monica's**

**September 18th, 2:09 AM**

**Kathy Stabler's POV**

"C'mon, Kath," I hear Martina repeat, this time sobbing instead of laughing, "You won't make me be valedictorian by myself. You won't."

She sobs in perfect unison with Elliot and I, her sobs multiplying when Kathleen doesn't respond. Elliot, Marty and I slowly put our arms around each other, sobbing. We know that the time has come, but we can't face it; we can't look towards Kathleen.

Our thoughts are broken by a gasp, and a quiet sentance.

"You're right, Martina...I won't..."

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AN: There's still more to come, so I hope you all keep reading.Also,I'm not sure if this will show up in large font on the site...my dad has his computer font set in large, and I don't know howto change that. Hopefully, it automatically changes. If this chapter does show up in large font...sorry!  
Please review!


	8. Joy

AN: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get this up, everyone. I'm very, very sorry, but school has been so busy and draining, and whenever I went to sit down at my computer, my mind just went blank.

I know, I know. I write a LOT of cliffhangers. I love 'em. They keep people interested.

Well, sad though it makes me, this is the end. I can't think of much more I can put into this story. If I ever do think of more, believe me, I'll write out a sequel. Please review. I'm so grateful for all the reviews I've gotten for this story. I will list shout-outs after the last chapter, and if you review after I post this chapter, you'll get a shout-out in a later fic.

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the musicals 'Peter Pan' and 'Chicago', although I must say, I do love them.

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**Third Person**

A twenty-six year old brunette sat in her seat within the auditorium, her chestnut ringlets spiraling halfway down her back, her brown eyes focused in anticipation on the stage where the award was being presented. She had worked all her life for this night, and everyone she knew and loved was either beside her in the row of seats, or backstage, or waiting at her godparent's house, watching from the TV.

"And, the award goes to…" the announcer said, his voice booming off the walls, "Martina Andreas-McIntyre for her portrayal of Velma Kelly in 'Chicago'!"

The actress stood up, joyful tears already welling up in her eyes. The hem of her black, strapless gown touching the floor, Martina made her way up the stage.

"Thank you," she offered, smiling out to the audience, "This is not my first time doing this wonderful production. When I was sixteen, I acted Velma in community theatre. Before that production began, however, my family and I were taken from Central Park. My family was killed, I was abused, and I was the onewho hadto bear the memories. After that, I was left with no desire to fufill my dreams of acting. However, my wonderful god family, the Stabler's, not only took me in after that, they also provided me with the desire to live, and the desire to live my dreams. I must thank them for that, and let it be known how much I love them. Thanks to Kathleen, my god sister, and best friend, for helping me dance again after severe burns covered my legs. And as I thank my god family, I also must thank my biological family, for all their support and love. It is through their memory that I am able to keep going."

"I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me, and thank you to Him." She continued.

Slowly, she fixed her eyes on the man beaming in the front row. The man she loved. She remembered herself when she was sixteen, the shell of a girl who had no faith left in love, and who had never expected to feel love, or happiness, again. What a stranger that girl was to her now.

"'Peter Pan', the show I began when I was twenty-two, and just out of acting school, had a one year run, and over that year, I met, fell in love with, and married my husband, who also happened to be a technician involved with the show, David McIntyre. And, well…you all know how I feel about my husband, and our twins, Helena and Daniel. I love them all! They make my life complete, and without them, I am nothing. Thanks to them."

"And finally, to my fans…all of you are what makes this job worthwhile. Thank you for all the support. I love you all! Goodnight!"

Slowly, Martina walked down from the platform, towards her family. Towards her life.

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**Stabler Residence**

**Several Hours Later**

**Elliot Stabler's POV**

She's done it. She's made me tear up. _Again._ Damn her! I'm not supposed to cry. I don't cry, except at weddings and funerals, over my children, and over the odd case.

Okay, what the hell. I do cry. And I blame Martina.

"Ladies and gentleman," David says, running into the living room, ahead of his wife, "It is my pleasure to present the best actress in the universe, who just happens to be my wife, Martina Andreas-McIntyre!"

Martina walks in, laughing and blushing. She hits a corny pose before she and Kathleen practically dive for each other's arms.

"Marty, your speech was perfect beyond all reason." Kathleen says to her, smiling.

The two young women continue hugging, until someone finally shouts for Kathleen to quit hogging Martina. Ahhh, yes, it was Dickie. Marty laughs, and exchanges high fives from every imaginable angle with him, before turning her eyes on me. I open my arms, and she runs into them, crying tears of joy.

"I did it, Dad." She chokes out, laughing through her tears, and calling me by the name she had deemed appropriate for me several years after her parents' murder. It's a name I love hearing her say. "I finally did it!"

"You sure did, sweetie." I whisper, glad to have her in my arms, "You sure did."

She has indeed done it, and I couldn't be happier for her. But I can't say that I've never been prouder. I was prouder when I watched her take her first steps. I was prouder when she received Holy Communion for the first time. I was prouder as I watched her end her first year of high school with a 4.0. I was prouder when she was Confirmed. I was prouder as I watched her testify at court, confronting her attackers with strength. I was prouder when she turned from a rape victim to a rape survivor. I was prouder when she graduated from high school, first honors with Kathleen, just asthey'd always hoped.I was prouder when she got married.

But I have never been prouder than I am of her in this moment. Not because of the acting award, not because of the excellent acting job she did to get the award. I am proud because of what I see in her face: total, complete joy that she has worked for. All her life, she'd perfected _looking_ joyful. But now, I can see joy radiating from her eyes, from her very soul; total, complete, hard-earned joy.

No one has ever been more deserving.

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Well, I know it was short, but hopefully, I've given you a decent ending. Please express your thoughts via the review. I hate to end this story (I always hate ending my stories!) but it's time to move on.

Thank you to: WynterNytes, SVUFanatic611 for the longestreviews, and for editing, Tati aka Trinity, LawNorderLuver01, SpectraLady, duncand, chrismelonifan, Bluenose, Bite Beccy, AkatsukiCloak, psalm57, and justawriter. I thank you all for taking the time out of your lives to express your thoughts, many of which have brightened up my days, and made me smile. Thanks, also, to AmethystFluff, for giving me such great advice. More of Huang in future fics, I promise! (I haven't had time to study psychology, and I don't want to write his character if I can't do him justice). Thanks to garrettelliot, who helped me with research for this fic, and inspired me to write it.

Well, I am working on the second part of my trilogy of one-shots, the first of which was called 'Cry'. I am also working on 'Memories of a Broken Heart'. More to come. Until my next post, adios! Thanks to all my reviewers for everything.


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